


It'll rain a sunny day

by I_am_sorry



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Flower man, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage, Original Character(s), Rich Lawyers, Second Chances, Slice of Life, Some Plot, Somehow, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 03:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_sorry/pseuds/I_am_sorry
Summary: August is a simple man who dreams of having a simple life, but nothing ever goes as planned and complication happens in the shape of a lawyer with a peculiar name who doesn't know how to quit.Amsterdam is the man who handed him promises like summer-flower chains. Amsterdam is also the man who broke August’s heart.[Two men on a journey to find forgiveness. A story about second chances.]





	It'll rain a sunny day

August stares at the small gift carefully wrapped in shiny blue paper, resting on his hands, and wonders if after all, this whole idea was a mistake. Glancing around the luxurious lobby of the place, with magnificent imported wood and sharp glass candelabras, makes him think, perhaps it was.

August suppresses a sigh; the restaurant Amsterdam is currently eating in is full of expensive looking things and people, and to be honest it makes him feel uncomfortable and out of place but by now he knows, when it comes to Amsterdam there’s not helping it.

“Can I help you, Sir?” The receptionist asks him, looking at him, at his casual and well-used clothes with ill-concealed distaste.

August doesn’t have a university title and he lived all of his childhood in his dad’s trailer. He is tall, big and broad on the shoulders, blond and some would say easy on the eyes, but that doesn’t mean anything to people like this that only understand money and pretentions. August knows he looks poor and with no business in this five-star Michelin restaurant.

“I was actually looking for someone,” August nods and waits patiently for the receptionist to check on her list.

“Name?” She says coolly, and August knows she thinks he is lower than trash.

“I don’t know if I am still on the list,” August tells her sincerely, and sees her twitch. “But we can try, I guess,”

The receptionist nods.

“Look for August Delacroix,” he says simply and waits.

The receptionist pauses her search on the list, and something akin to fear paints her eyes. She is pale and swallows hard. “As in relation to Mr. Delacroix?”

“I guess, yeah,” August says and well, they are still related… at least until Amsterdam agrees to firm the papers August sent him last month.

“Please come with me then,” the lady doesn’t even try to look for his name anymore, just leads him towards the private room Amsterdam is having dinner in.

And just like that, Amsterdam is right there in front of him, in his perfectly tailored three pieces suit, and his flawlessly styled black hair looking at ease with all the beautiful people around him, snarling at each other, men and women alike, trying to win his attention for a second.

Amsterdam is turning twenty-nine years old today, just a year older than August actually, and well… that’s the whole reason of the why he is here –even when he knows he shouldn’t be. After all August knows what birthdays mean to Amsterdam; his father having passed on this same day nine years ago, and yet, Amsterdam doesn’t seem down this time. August should have heard Ellie’s warning and just ignore this date altogether.

Amsterdam stops paying attention to the beautiful man flirting with him, with exotic green eyes and caramel brown skin –who August knows is dying to make it to Amsterdam’s bed by the end of the night- to turn and look at whatever the receptionist wants to tell him.

“How can I help you?” Amsterdam asks her and August sees her shift nervously under the other’s man focused gaze.

“A man is here asking to see you,” she tells him floundering and August decided to take pity on her.

“I asked her to see you actually,” August tells him just behind her.

Amsterdam stills for a moment, and stands after that, and the whole table goes quiet. “Of course you did, come here then.”

And August supposes, _well there’s no helping it now, is there?_

Amsterdam clears his throat to call the table’s attention towards them just as August reaches his side; August knows he is two inches taller than Amsterdam and way broader but somehow right now he doesn’t feel that way, he just feels small and stupidly sad.

“Well ladies and gentleman, I want to introduce you to my husband, August Delacroix.”

 

***

 

The dinner is a nightmare; half of the people in the room didn’t even know Amsterdam had a husband, and the other have that did, didn’t care about things like marriage, one little bit.

The man with green eyes and brown skin that had been delicately flirting with Amsterdam before is not even trying to be subtle about it anymore. He says his name is Ethan, says he likes to be tied and used during sex –that he doesn’t mind a threesome even, and if Amsterdam would like to try?

August feels sick.

But that’s not all of course, there are women here too, and they are trying just as hard as Ethan is, if not a bit more because they think is their right as stunning females to be with the top alpha male of their choosing; just human nature. Amsterdam just talks a little with everyone who wants to sleep with him, smiles politely, doesn’t accept but doesn’t decline any invitations either.

And August that is sitting just at his right side, supposes, he deserved this, for doing something as idiotic as bringing a gift to the man he is trying to divorce, on said man’s birthday.

One woman in particular, with a translucent cocktail dress, that just doesn’t know when to quit and has been trying to make Amsterdam notice her all night asks him, with a fake sweet voice. “What is it that you do for a living?”

The whole table looks at him, like sharks ready for blood.

August swallows the last of his wine, and answers with enough strength in his voice to be heard through the noise, knowing very well, all of this people will make a joke on him or about him right afterwards. “I own a flower-shop,”

Some laugh and some snicker, or some like the woman who asked him, gasps with surprise and just mocks him plainly. “I see, a very difficult work, I imagine.”

The whole table erupts into laughter, and August has had enough. He should have heard Ellie’s warnings and not bothered to come here in first place, he was an idiot. He stands and goes to take his little present with him, but just when he is about to walk away, Amsterdam grabs his hand and doesn’t _let him go._

“I hope all of you had your joke,” Amsterdam says awfully quietly, and August knows that tone, it screams _danger_. “Now is the turn for mine,”

“You have mocked, ignored and disrespected the most important person in my life all night and for that, all of you have lost your jobs at my firms,” Amsterdam makes it so that no one is even able to protest while he talks. “You won’t be recommended to another’s firms and if I even come across you again, I will not hesitate to ruin you. All of you can go, _now._ ”

And incredibly enough in a matter of minutes, all the beautiful men and women who occupied the table, walk out in heavy silence.

Once alone August shakes his head. “You didn’t have to do that,”

“You were going to leave again; it was you or them,”

“Who says I am still not leaving?”

Amsterdam pauses and looks at him, his steel-gray eyes full of unsaid questions. “Are you then?”

August hestiates, shrugs. “I haven’t had desert yet,”

Amsterdam nods.

 

***

 

Amsterdam is kind with his touch, has always been.

August knows this, and yet today he doesn’t want that kind of sweet attention. He wants hard and fast, and yes dirty –like they did sometimes at the very beginning of their relationship a year ago, when Amsterdam was just the elegant lawyer who sometimes called for August’s delivery service of flowers. Those were easier days, maybe, simpler days where August just had to mind not hurting his face when Amsterdam bent him over the nearest flat surface, that most of the times was Amsterdam’s work desk.

But they were mostly estrangers back then, just two men taking care of necessities.

And they aren’t estrangers now.

At least not about the things that really matter; Amsterdam isn’t just some elegant lawyer now, he is the man August accepted for better or worse, and in sickness and in health. He is the man who studied law because his mother imposed it on him after his father died but in reality wanted to be a poet or a painter, he is the man who likes to collect watches and talk about weird historical stuff August finds boring most of the time. Amsterdam is that man, and also the man who said I love you first with incredible clumsiness when August was just starting to wonder if his feeling were more than lust.

Amsterdam is the man who handed him promises like summer-flower chains. Amsterdam is also the man who broke August’s heart.

“No, not like this,”

Amsterdam stops and looks at him, something uncertain flickering in his eyes. “You don’t want me to see your face?”

August nods. Is not about the position, not really, is more about feeling exposed and without any kind of sentimental-protection but to be practical… yes.

“I don’t like it that way,” Amsterdam says, and he is frowning and not very happy about it.

August shrugs. “I shouldn’t be here and much less fucking you, so if you want it you are going to do as I tell you,”

Amsterdam’s eyes go cold, like the frostiest lake in winter, clear and unreadable. “Is not fucking.”

August smiles with enough bitterness. “It is if there is no love,”

“But I do love you.”

August doesn’t think, he needs to answer that. He just closes his eyes and goes, goes, goes underwater.

They are both naked and is hot. Two bodies twirling as if in a dance. August groans and feels; he tries to not think about who is the one giving him pleasure, he grabs the sheets, and lets out a muffled cry when he feels pressure in his back. The hands playing with his body know how to handle him, how to play him like a fine tuned instrument –and August feels just so, so good he can barely know what is going on, aside from white raw pleasure.

He is lost in it, in the sensations, in the feeling of hot hard flesh breaching him, pounding him to the mattress –when all of it stops, and suddenly he is just not feeling, he is knowing where he is and with whom. And knowing that is the worst that actually happens to him.

Because-

Those are Amsterdam’s hands on his hips.

He would know Amsterdam’s long fingered hands anywhere, and he is being so, so kind…

And it was only a _bet._

That’s why Amsterdam said I love you first, that’s why he bent August on his desk in first place and why later Amsterdam stopped the clandestine fuckings and asked August to a date. That’s why he went down on one knee in fucking Paris, and proposed.

That’s why this act they are doing doesn’t mean shit.

Because it was only ever a bet, a bet with two of his fine-looking lawyer friends… because they were bored and it amused them; Amsterdam used to sleep with one of them also, the man, not the woman –although he did say once he likes women too.

Amsterdam made a bet with them regarding the flower-man who didn’t accept any invitations to date and didn’t give two shits about _Delacroix & Hartman-firms and associates_ and their promiscuous ways.

They didn’t bet only on his body, which yeah, was uh… pure at first, they also made a bet about his heart –and of course Amsterdam won. Because he just doesn’t know how to not win.

He fucking won big time and suddenly August can’t keep doing this. He is hot and hard on Amsterdam’s hand and as his _husband_ , his fucking husband strokes his length and keeps fucking him steadily, he just can’t keep doing it, this.

“Please,” August says and yes his voice is breaking, and he can feel the tears gathering on his eyes. “Please stop,”

And Amsterdam may be many things, cruel things when he feels like it, but he knows and understands legally and morally the meaning of consent –and he stops, pulls out and waits.

And August can do nothing more than tremble and cry. He cries for what seem like hours but he can’t be sure.

Amsterdam goes and brings back a wet towel to clean him of sweat and lube; he also brings a blanket that he uses to cover him after cleaning him. He asks for room service and for warm chocolate and more pillows and more blankets to make August more comfortable and yet the tears don’t stop. He is crying his heart out in a five-star hotel and unexpectedly he feels bad about staining a thousand-cotton-Egyptian bed covers with snot.  

“I was happy all alone,” August tells him between hiccups. “I was happy just with my flowers, I didn’t need anything else, I wasn’t doing anything hurtful to you, so why did you have to go and make me miserable?”

Amsterdam who is already half-dressed, just closes his eyes and sits beside him.

“I know my words have no meaning to you any longer,” Amsterdam pauses and he seems truly pained. “But I am sorry, it started like a bet but after a handful of weeks it was so much more than that.”

August snorts, shakes his head. The simple truth is he doesn’t believe it. He can’t.

“I am willing to wait for your forgiveness.”

“You don’t know how to do that,”

Amsterdam makes a choked up noise, and August knows he is feeling like shit too. They both are at low point in their lives, he guesses.

“We never did manage to go on the honey-moon you wanted,” Amsterdam says as he walks towards the desk on the far side of the room.

And that’s other thing his husband never did get, August didn’t want the honey-moon, he just wanted Amsterdam’s time –but his work, important high-profile cases at the principal firm and his mother never left much of Amsterdam’s time free for August.

“I have the tickets now,”

August notices the papers on Amsterdam’s hands and wonders what is that supposed to mean.

“Two years,” Amsterdam says and August just stares at him as if he went crazy.

“I can’t keep being _your husband_ ,” August stresses in case Amsterdam didn’t get that little detail alongside with the divorce papers August sent a month before.

“You don’t have to,” Amsterdam says firmly as if he is negotiating a case. “We can go and try to be friends, and if I don’t manage to earn your forgiveness by then I will never get it anyway,”

“Friends?”

Amsterdam assents. “Just friends, we can part ways after the two years are done, and if you don’t want to see me after that, then I will never bother you again, but I would like to at least to try one last time,”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Amsterdam looks down at the papers on his hands. “Then I will give you this for you to take any person you would like with you,”

August considers the man in front of him and wonders if maybe he should tell him no altogether but…

It’s supposed to mean something, isn’t it?

“What happens if we go on this trip, on this two year trip as friends and I meet some new person I want to be with? Have sex with?” August asks looking directly at Amsterdam’s eyes and maybe he is being deliberately cruel but maybe just maybe his dearest husband deserves it.

Amsterdam sighs; he looks tired and maybe older than he should be. “You are your own person, and we are going as friends, you can do what you like,”

“What about you?”

“It’s the same way for me, I can fuck whoever I like on this trip too, it’s only fair,”

August doesn’t think he would survive that, not really. “What if I don’t want you to go and fuck whoever you like but I won’t make the same compromise?”

“That’s not even,” Amsterdam says weary.

August shrugs. “You owe me that at least.”

Not that he will be sleeping with any other men either but Amsterdam doesn’t need to know that.

“If that will make you less miserable, then yes, I won’t sleep around even if you do,”

August nods. “I will think about it,”

Amsterdam starts grabbing  the rest of his clothes. “You have a week, if you don’t come to the airport next morning I will send you the tickets everything already paid up so you can go with whoever you decide,”

“Alright.” August says and watches Amsterdam go.

 Ellie will kill him but yeah… alright.

 

***

 

August stares at the gift on his hands, he didn’t get to give it to Amsterdam last time they were together but he is hoping to give it to him today –no sense in keeping it, he doesn’t use cufflinks and well, whatever happens he bought the cufflinks for _him._

Two years seem like an awfully long time to live apologizing or accepting the apologies which is what Amsterdam intends, he knows this. Still August showed up at the airport in the end.

Maybe he is still willing to try.

Amsterdam walks towards him after some minutes of waiting. He is traveling light, only a bag of clothes and his briefcase.

After a brief hello, there’s no second guessing or Amsterdam hesitating at all, August’s answer is being _here.  “Ready to go?”_

And no, August isn’t ready in any form but he goes anyway. “Yes,”

 

***

 

England, with her cold weather and a sour disposition to match their own, England with her rainy and gloomy days, that’s how they start. And like all beginnings it’s hard work; they don’t go outside much, the weather making it almost impossible, so they talk –and like draining a wound of its infection is painful at first but it’s the only way to heal. August believes this, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy; he asks everything he wanted to know and everything he didn’t want to and pays attention to every little detail.

Amsterdam doesn’t spare him any details, not even the details of the bet -and how to an extent to deny his growing feelings, he kept fucking his lawyer-buddy the first two months of their relationship. They weren’t exclusive then, at least not officially, but they had started going bare unexpectedly quickly, almost by the fourth week, and August has to wonder if he has to go to have a full medical test done on him to see if he is clean of sexual deceases.

“I stopped sleeping with him after two months with you,” Amsterdam tells him, sitting on one of the beds of the hotel room. “He didn’t believe me later when I told him I loved you and was going to marry you,”

August who’s looking through the window at the rain splattering against the glass, thinks maybe this other man was also in love with Amsterdam, and it must have wounded him to know his lover was leaving him to be with the flower-man.

“He told me about the bet,” August remembers that night four months ago pretty well, one of the worsts in his life.

“He thought about hurting is both, that’s just how he is,”

“Yeah, I can see why he might have loved you, kindred spirits and all,”

Amsterdam just flinches at his words but doesn’t fight back. The rain outside their room takes a long time to stop afterwards.

France and Germany pass in a blur, August doesn’t remember much about those aside from Amsterdam kneeling on the same spot he proposed, only this time he isn’t asking for a future he is asking for forgiveness of the past.

In Poland they start talking again, like friends, real friends who listen to each other. They also go to a hospital to get tested, and the results come back clean.

Ukraine is good for them, makes them more tolerable, more willing to keep trying after all; they start sharing a bed again on Ukraine, only for sleeping though –and August starts feeling okay with this, again, with Amsterdam right by his side, little by little.

Russia however, Russia is one of his happiest memories of the trip. Amsterdam takes him to fields filled to the brim with tall sunflowers. It’s a beautiful sight to behold just under the sun, and Amsterdam with casual clothes, ripped jeans and simple white T-shirt, makes the sight even better.

“Love me again,” Amsterdam pleads at him right in that field, in a hushed whisper and August, August wants to try.

 

 ***

 

They reach Japan after one year in Europe, amidst cherry blossoms and colorful lights. Amsterdam takes him to place full of pink trees and offers to buy the seed of one just for him.

“You can’t buy my love,” August doesn’t want to be particularly harsh but Amsterdam needs to understand, it’s not about the money.

Amsterdam snorts, “It would be easier if I could,”

August hesitates but as they walk between all the pink trees on the park, hearing how the people around them chat, this little idea comes forward to his mind, a lovely dream, and he feels the need to say it. “I would like to come back here when we get to our ten year anniversary, maybe bring the kids,”

Amsterdam stops, looks at him, “That’s just more than hope you are giving me.”

August shrugs. "Dreams are just that, dreams,"

It doesn't mean anything. What can it hurt to dream?

“Kids?”

They did never talk about a future with kids, but August would like to have them. He smiles, amused beyond himself. “You can buy them for me.”

“So buying your love works only when you want it?”

August snickers and feels stupidly content between all the soft pink. “Yes,”

“I think that’s not fair,”

August pursues his lips. “I am not a lawyer. I don’t care about laws and justice.”

Amsterdam just smiles, faintly. It amuses him as well. “How many kids?”

“Two,”

“Alright, if you want to,”

August nods and thinks about, well, really… How nice it would be? …To come back some day with his children, their children and show them this lovely watercolor in pink. _it would be a lovely anniversary._ “I do.”

They reach a bench after buying flavored-ice and while Amsterdam talks about old feudal Japan and samurai stories, August thinks it would be indeed nice to come back some day.

"And they, the samurai valored honor an-"

August leans close cutting short the monologue and tastes lemon flavored-ice of Amsterdam's lips.

It is wonderful.

 

***

 

They reach south America fifteen months after starting their trip, and Argentina, the first country they visit, means dancing; that’s what August likes best about Amsterdam in there, how he takes him to dance almost every night, and takes him around decadent tango-filled places, with low light and stolen kisses, leading August through it, showing him how to dance tango and making him stupidly hot with all the sensual touching –it never amounts to more than kissing though, August isn’t ready, not yet.

They are kissing frantically after one of their tango sessions, right outside the bar, in one dark alley, with Amsterdam pinning him to the wall and August grinding slowly against his thigh –when a beautiful black-haired woman approaches them, clearing her throat.

They look at her stopping their motions but still intertwined together.

“I am sorry for interrupting but, my boyfriend and I wanted to ask you, if you wouldn’t be interested in playing with us?”

The boyfriend in question is right behind her, taller than August and just as blond, remarkably good looking and he is looking at both of them as if he wouldn’t like anything more than fuck them just against the alley.

She smiles prettily. “I love to watch too,”

And suddenly August doesn’t feel happy or turned on anymore, he feels exposed and threatened and more than silly -because he knows Amsterdam is not estranger to sharing and open relationships but August dislikes those practices a lot, and even if Amsterdam would have liked to go with them, August can’t, he just can’t stand it. Not now and not in twenty years.

“We will have to decline,” Amsterdam tells the good looking estrangers almost immediately at what they shrug and then go on their merry way.

After they are gone, August mumbles a truly genuine, “I am sorry about that, about not giving you enough freedom to do as you would like,”

“You don’t have to apologize with me,”

August shrugs, wants to put some distance between them, and cross his arms as a sort of protective barrier between him and Amsterdam. “I know I can’t give you all of what you need. The pain stuff you were into,”

Amsterdam sighs. “I have told you this before, It was fun being a Dom but that’s not something I need to live, yes I did it and I liked it but that’s over for me now,” he stops, takes a long breath and takes a step back from August space. “Yes, I had Subs and lovers, and yes I shared and didn’t care very much to what they were doing or whom after me at any moment, but August, that’s the thing, _I didn’t care about them like I do about you_ ,”

August looks at him wearily. “I dislike pain,”

“I Know,”

“I would dislike sharing you,”

Amsterdam smiles at that. “That would make two of us, sweetheart,”

Which yeah, it means it’s okay, really okay, and August feels a little more of peace thanks to that.

Afterwards, Paraguay, Colombia and Venezuela are mostly quiet days and busy nights; even though Amsterdam is no longer wearing a suit these days, just casual clothing, he still works on cases that his Firm sends to him daily. His mother demands her son to keep working even while on Vacation and Amsterdam complies.

Sometimes August asks him about it, about his work and Amsterdam tries to explain it to him the best way he can, patiently and easily simple. He likes those days, feels important somehow, smarter than he actually is.

Amsterdam never seems to mind the questions.

Some days however, August just gets silent and lets him work without distractions.

There’s a night, though, not a particular one, when August asks him, sitting amidst all the scattered papers Amsterdam has been reading for a case. “Why the flower-man?”

And Amsterdam just looks at him, something unreadable on his gaze. “Love doesn’t have to make sense,”

August smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It just has to hurt?”

Amsterdam doesn’t have an answer for that. August doesn’t bother to ask anything else that night.

 

 ***

 

Mexico is their last stop before going back to New York, their two years are almost up, just a few weeks more and it’s done and August knows it’s time to make a final decision. Amsterdam hasn’t asked about what his answer will be yet but August knows he will, just at the moment he perceives to be the more convenient and August thinks he is finally ready to make a decision anyway.

They are in an expensive hotel bar with tequila flowing around their veins, and hot salsa on their tongues when it becomes apparent, to August what his answer will be.

There’s an attractive man who has been stealing looks at August all night, trying to decide if Amsterdam is just a friend and if he could have a chance maybe, August knows, feels the man’s attention on his back all the time… and the man, he is black haired and brown skinned and built like a marble statue, just model material really, and… and yet August doesn’t want him. He just wants…

What has been on the table since the beginning of the trip? He wants Amsterdam’s hands on him and his promises of love, just that, _his husband’s love._

The man approaches them after all, says his name is Alfonso, flirts with August and asks Amsterdam if he is okay with him taking August to dance?

Amsterdam shrugs blasé and drinks some more tequila, straight, without even wincing. His eyes however, his eyes are dark, rippling with anger and discontent.

August shivers with desire; he knows Amsterdam gets rough with him in that kind of mindset.

Alfonso takes him away and they dance. It’s innocent enough, Alfonso doesn’t try to grab him inappropriately, or grind against him. It’s fun but after a while he wants to go back.

“I should go see how Amsterdam is doing,” August tells him.

“Your friend?” Alfonso asks.

And here it comes, August thinks he can finally say it. “My husband,”

Alfonso just looks at him without surprise. “He left long ago,”

August supposes he didn’t notice the time he spent dancing away and Amsterdam must have gotten bored. “I have to go to my hotel room then.”

Alfonso licks his lips, “I thought you wanted me tonight?”

“I am married,” August says again, slowly.

Alfonso frowns. “So am I,”

And August thinks it must be an open-relationship thing, something he doesn’t get obviously. “I am not into sharing,”

“Neither am I,”

August doesn’t want to know, not really. He just feels sad for Alfonso's husabnd or wife. “I hope it gets better for you,”

“Thank you,”

August nods.

Once in their room, it’s obvious it would come to this. August had been counting on it.

Amsterdam doesn't try to be kind this time like he was in their previous failed intent more than a year ago; August thinks briefly it's maybe because he is over his guilt already, but deep down he knows the truth is way simpler, Amsterdam is jealous and hurt, he thinks August had sex (dirty, seedy sex) with Alfonso just some hours before coming here, to their bed. And August lets him believe it, maybe because he is just as twisted and cruel as his beloved husband is sometimes. Maybe because they need to be even before trying again for the starting line, or maybe because he likes it rough way too much… but yeah, he is not saying nothing happened just yet.

It's maybe the roughness but August understands he can finally do this again without breaking apart. Amsterdam is no longer the cold-hearted fucker who made a bet of him, he is just this man who can never wake early and hates mornings, who always gives August his desert, not because he doesn't like it but because August likes it too much. He is just this man who has tried to win him back at all costs, offering him the world. Amsterdam is just Amsterdam for August, again. And that's the best part of everything.

Back in the day when they had first started, August hadn't ever really believed his luck, he hadn't been able to believe someone like Amsterdam really liked him enough to offer more than sex and then he discovered he was the bet and knew-

He just knew it was how it was supposed to be. Men like Amsterdam didn't notice men like August.

But now August is starting to believe. That's why he lets this happen.

August feels fingers stretching him, looking for something until Amsterdam finally finds it, and he just doesn't let it go. Amsterdam shoves his fingers hard, hitting August's prostate with deadly aim -and even when August twists and moans incoherently, Amsterdam just doesn't stop. He makes him orgasm just like that, with his fingers the first time.

By the fourth time August reaches his peak again, he is not even sure what he is doing or what is being done to him anymore. He only knows he feels hypersensitive and raw, delirious with pleasure. Amsterdam is inside him, of course. And this time August feels it all the way, they are doing this bare, no condom between them, they hate the barrier, and Amsterdam just keeps fucking him, making him twitch and spam like a ragdoll dancing at his will.

It doesn't take much.

August arches his back one last time before coming back from the high. Amsterdam is also done inside him.

"I didn't sleep with Alfonso," August tells him gasping.

"I supposed as much, you were as tight as the first time we did this,"

August smiles, and rolls over, taking Amsterdam with him. "I like you," he admits and it feels like coming home after a long stay away.

Amsterdam just smiles, and there's warmth in his eyes as he leans down to kiss August again, and nuzzles his cheek. "Marriages have started on less,"

"You think so?"

"Yes,"

 

***

 

They finish their trip on a cheerful note, a lovely sunny day just outside of the airport. August hands Amsterdam his little blue wrinkled gift from two years ago. “I should have given this to you sooner.”

Amsterdam takes it as he does anything else, unnaturally graceful. “Thank you.”

“I intended to give it to you last year but--”

“That’s okay. I liked my present last year just fine.”

August looks at him funnily, wondering. “I didn’t give you anything last year,”

Amsterdam shrugs. “We were in Russia; you were happy and considering forgiveness. It was enough.”

August smiles, “Yeah,”

“Well,” Amsterdam says, dressed again impeccably in his tree pieces suit. His lawyer persona already on, he won’t makes assumptions just yet, just because they had sex on Mexico in these past last weeks and August admitted liking him. That’s just not how Amsterdam is, August knows.

“Well,” Amsterdam says again, clearing his throat. They are outside the airport with their luggage and a cheerful sunny day and a future expanding before them, married life, kids, and trying to be together above anything else, that's what August would like but he doesn't know if they will manage it.

"You can hurt me without even trying," August says and it is a truth neither can ignore.

"You can hurt me too, sweetheart,"

August smiles just a little. "I love it when you use endearments on me."

Amsterdam snorts, a sort of dignified noise coming from him. "You also love it when I get rough and talk dirty at you."

August shrugs. He is a simple man.

Amsterdam nods after a while and looks at him with determination, as he looks when he is ready to go in court and August knows he is ready to hear August's answer whatever this would be.

And just for a moment August can see it clearly, how the future will be, if he were to say no, Amsterdam will hurt but in time he will get over it, get married to a beautiful woman probably and have beautiful kids with her. They will grow and go to university and some days, some really rare days, when Amsterdam goes to get some quiet time in his study he will look outside his window, and remember he was married to a man once, a long, long time ago. He will remember mostly how August used to love flowers and a trip that lasted two years but August's face and voice will be blurred on his mind thanks to time that doesn't know how to forgive.

August for his part will remain on his flower shop, he will have many lovers after Amsterdam because he won't believe in love any longer, but after some years, he will settle down too with some nice working-class man and he won't love him, not really, but he will be fond of him and he will celebrate his lover's birthdays and their anniversaries -and he won't think about Amsterdam at all.

And then one day, they will see each other again across the street, outside, waiting to get to see a brodway show called 'This love that only comes to us once.' and they both will think about this exact moment and about how it could have been.

About how different it could have been?

"Amsterdam," August says, inhaling sharply. "Take me home."

 

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**Author's Note:**

> I read once that writing Original Work is like screaming into the void, and yes I suppose I agree, because sometimes you write and don't know if someone, anyone out there, will read. That's why for me, comments, kudos, feedback… it means a lot.
> 
> Also aside from this little short story, I plan on keep working next on some of my other stories, hopefully… but my inspiration is a stubborn thing and sometimes it works… but sometimes it doesn't… so yeah…
> 
> And lastly I respect everyone tastes but I strongly deslike polyamori, sharing, menage, three way etc. So you won't find any of that in any of my stories. It gets me sad however how little there is to read for people like me everytime as this is (poly) what the majority of authors write about nowadays. Anyway, I hope you like the story.
> 
> See you hopefully soon.


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